I Am Going To Take Up Drinking
by Laramie Station
Summary: The further adventures of a fledgling Guardian Angel in charge of our favorite cowboy, Jess Harper. If you want to meet Maxwell, I recommend reading "Just Keep Him Alive" first. A short read that answers the burning question: How long does it take Jess Harper to drive an angel to drink? Hope you find both as fun to read as I did in writing them. Thanks for reading.
1. Chapter 1

I own no part of Laramie or it's characters, only those I create. No profit is made from this story.. I wish to thank the stars, writers, directors and producers for creating a show that lives on long after the series closed.

********** I'm Going to Take Up Drinking **********

**By Laramie Station **

**Chapter 1 – A New Development for Maxwell**

Once again we are at that golden door in the Celestial City.

Peter opened the door and instructed Eli, "Please call Maxwell back to my office as quickly as possible. I need to discuss some changes in his assignment."

"Of course, Peter. I will let you know as soon as he arrives."

Returning to his office, Eli went straight to his supply cabinet and removed his personal G.A.L. (Guardian Angel Locator). He flipped the activation switch, entered Maxwell's name into the program and G.A.L. hummed and whirred, finally shimmying to a stop when Maxwell was found.

Meanwhile, Peter returned to the chair behind his desk to await Maxwell's arrival. Deep in thought, he considered, _I will really have to promote this option, otherwise Maxwell might... _He was interrupted by a soft knock on his door.

Eli poked his head in. "Maxwell has arrived."

"Thank you, Eli." Peter drew a deep breath then squared his shoulders. "Send him in, please."

Eli held the door for Maxwell as he entered the office. Taking the chair opposite Peter's desk, an intermittent trail of feathers drifting silently in his wake, Maxwell waited for Peter to speak.

"Maxwell," greeted Peter with a huge smile. "How are things going?"

"Fine, just fine," he answered, sounding exactly like his charge.

"And Mr. Harper, how is he?"

"Fine, just fine."

Looking up at Peter, he declared with awe, "You would not believe his gift for self-destruction. Nor his ability to survive. It is amazing."

"You have been able to keep him safe, other than his minor mishaps?"

"Yes, he is as well as can be expected considering he is Jess Harper."

"Good, good. Excellent. By the way, uhm... how are your feathers? Still having issues with molt... uh... er... I- I mean... loss of feathers?"

"Just an occasional feather now and then."

Peter sighed softly.

"You called for me?" Maxwell reminded him.

Peter hesitated briefly, then decided it would be best if he just said it straight out.

"It seems an additional problem has arisen with the project Cayden is working on in Mr. Harper's future. He needs a little more time to solidify all the components before he returns. He wants you to handle Mr. Harper for a few more days."

A single feather shot straight up into the air, apparently with no notice at all from Maxwell.

Peter, watching in fascination as the feather reached the apex of its flight, then drifted slowly to the floor, absently asked Maxwell if he was okay with the added days.

Maxwell's shoulders slumped. "How many more days?" he asked, with the slightest quiver of panic in his voice.

"Oh, just a few. Perhaps five. Cayden was not very specific," Peter replied, trying to sound casual.

"F-F-Five," stuttered a nervous Maxwell.

"Possibly even a few more. Seven, perhaps ten at the very most, I am sure," said Peter.

Two feathers shot skyward, drifting down to join the previous one now lying on the office floor.

"Maxwell, please, try to relax," said Peter with concern.

"T – T – T – Ten MORE days," squeaked Maxwell with a shiver, which released a small cascade of feathers to the office floor.

"Approximately. But it could be as few as five or six," Peter hastily assured him.

"If you feel the time is beyond your abilities," Peter added quickly, "Cayden will either make other arrangements, or return by the promised Friday."

Maxwell paled visibly, shuddered again and whispered, "Ten more days?"

"You will be fine, Maxwell. As you said, you have become accustomed to Mr. Harper and his acci ... uhmm... mishaps. Surely, a few more days would not be any problem for a... wel... uh... er... a...a.. seasoned Harper veteran like yourself. Right, Maxwell?" Peter added with only the slightest hesitation in his voice.

"I am sure you will find this assignment can be a lot of fun. You could end up actually enjoying your time as his guardian angel," Peter said, wanting to offer encouragement to his molting fledgling.

"Relax. Fun," whispered Maxwell, his eyes glazing over as he trudged toward the door.

Peter cast an anxious look at Maxwell._ I hope he can still fly with those wings._

Eli stopped Maxwell in the outer office and handed him the R.A.N.G.E. book (Responsibilities of Apprentice and Novice Guardian Entities).

"Since your job has been extended, I tracked down one of our rule books for you. This is not the most current copy but it is the only one I have available. Perhaps the information in here will help you as guardian to Mr. Harper. And please, do not lose it. You must return it at the end of your assignment."

Maxwell heaved a big sigh, tucking the thick blue book with gold lettering under his arm.

"Oh, Maxwell. You will also need this," said Eli as he handed him a G.P.S. (Guardian's Personal Signal) ring. "Just put it on and when I need you to come back for any reason, I will just ping you. Like this," demonstrated Eli, as he activated his G.A.L.

The ring in Maxwell's hand glowed a dim blue and gave off a soft 'ping.'

"When you hear that 'ping,' you must return to the office immediately. Is that clear?" instructed Eli.

"Yes... return..." he mumbled, only half listening to his latest instructions.

"Off you go, then. Remember your instructions. Please try to relax and have a good time," prompted Eli as he ushered Maxwell out of the office and Earthward.

_Instructions. Relax. Good time. Sure, _thought Maxwell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - The Saloon**

Maxwell drifted Earthward and saw his charge heading toward town with his good friend and partner, Slim Sherman. They appeared to be in high spirits. Maxwell dutifully followed, drifting along about twenty feet above and behind them as they made their way to Laramie, stopping in front of the saloon.

_The saloon. Not again. _Maxwell's feathers fluttered as though in an unsteady breeze._ Maybe his friend will have a calming effect on him, _thought Maxwell. O_ne can always hope. _

As the boys tied their horses to the hitch rail and headed into the saloon, Maxwell paused outside near Traveler. On impulse he stuffed his R.A.N.G.E. book into Jess's saddlebag, then headed into the saloon himself to guarantee the safety of his young charge.

Inside, he found Jess – true to his gunslinger habits – seeking out a table in the back of the saloon with a clear field of vision (and fire if needed) while Slim picked up two beers from the bartender.

Maxwell chose a seat on the balcony banister to watch the activity below.

Slim set the beers on the table and swiftly chose the seat on Jess's left, wanting to make sure he gave that lighting gun hand plenty of room if action became necessary. Amid much laughter, the boys clinked their glasses and downed half their beers.

While enjoying a couple of beers, they spent the better part of the evening in conversation with other ranchers, cowboys and Mort as he made his early evening rounds.

As time passed, Maxwell was intrigued by the lovely young ladies who led a number of the cowboys upstairs to retire behind closed doors. Much giggling, laughter, and occasional moans and shouts emanated from behind those doors. Then, shortly, both the cowboy and the lady would exit the room. Sometimes, they would still be arm in arm, hugging and kissing and sometimes the cowboy would just smile, wave and head on out of the saloon. Maxwell was on the verge of passing through one of the doors to discover just what it was that went on in those rooms when he noticed his charge leaving the saloon.

Jess placed his nearly empty glass on the table and told Slim to watch his beer while he stepped out back for a little 'relief.' Jess navigated his way through the edge of a noisy jostling crowd to the back door and outside to 'the necessary.'

Maxwell checked the alley and streets for several blocks in each direction. Seeing and hearing no inherent danger for his charge, he stepped back into the saloon and briefly took over Jess's personal job as Slim's guardian. While looking over the saloon patrons to verify Slim's safety, his gaze drifted to Jess's nearly empty beer glass.

_I wonder what that stuff tastes like? They seem to enjoy it so much. I 'was' told to have fun. I 'do' plan on taking up drinking when this is over. Why wait?_ Reaching over, Maxwell drained the last of Jess's beer. _Hey, that is pretty good stuff. Not as good as our Celestial Spirits, but still really good._

Just then Jess came back and sat down. Looking at his now empty glass, he grunted, "I asked you to 'watch' my beer, not drink it."

With a surprised look, Slim checked the now empty glass. "I was watchin' it and no, I didn't drink your ol' beer."

"Yeah, sure you didn't, pard. Next time I'll just take it with me," muttered Jess as he headed to the bar for another beer.

Nearing the bar, Jess saw a cowboy get up from the poker table, leaving an empty chair. Never one to miss the opportunity to add a little spending money to his pockets, Jess veered eagerly toward the table as he signaled the bartender for a beer.

Slim, seeing his partner joining the gaming table, turned to the bar and joined two of the ladies in conversation. The conversation and flirtations quickly took Jess and his cards from Slim's mind.

As the Texan sat down, he checked his opponents. A couple were townsmen, one was new and would bear watching as he dealt. Another hour saw the townsmen leaving to be replaced by a Mexican vaquero and a hard-drinking miner. Jess was breaking a little better than even. Never one to drink heavily while playing cards, his beer remained untouched save for the first sip as he sat down to play.

Meanwhile, the variety of drinks at the table seemed to be disappearing with amazing speed as Maxwell sampled his way around the table. He especially liked the tequila the vaquero favored. Finally, Maxwell stopped once more behind Jess and watched as the small, neatly dressed stranger across from him shuffled, then dealt the cards. Maxwell couldn't believe his eyes. The man was cheating! He was dealing cards from the bottom of the deck.

Maxwell reached out and put his hand on Jess's shoulder, causing him to immediately look up and watch the man closely. As though in slow motion, Jess watched as the little man dealt his own hand from the bottom of the deck.

"Hold it right there," he commanded. "Put that deck on the table and try dealing the next card from the top of the deck."

The man paled, then tried to bluff his way out of a suddenly volatile situation. "You accusing me of cheating? Everybody knows you're nothing but a lousy, drunken, no good, two-bit saddle tramp and no-account gunslinger, Harper. Shut up and play your cards," groused the gambler, inserting a colorful assortment of vindictive expletives throughout his tirade.

Drunk or sober, an angry Jess Harper was not one to take such insults from any man. The Harper temper flared full bore. "I don't get drunk when I play cards, it's too easy ta miss a cheat," and his gun appeared so swiftly no one saw him draw.

Sheriff Cory came in just then on his nightly rounds. "What's going on here?" Mort demanded.

The cheater immediately cried for the sheriff to protect him as he continued his tirade of insults, ending with "this hair-trigger gunslinger obviously wants to kill me just because I won a few hands."

"This guy's a dirty card cheat, Mort," snapped Jess. "I caught him red-handed dealing from the bottom of the deck."

Mort checked the deck of cards. "Looks like all you need to win this hand mister, are the two aces at the bottom of this deck. You better hit the road. I'll finish checking my town for the night, which means I'll be back in this saloon in half an hour. If I find you're still here, or anywhere in my town when I get back, you'll warm a bunk in my jail till the Circuit Judge hits town next week."

Sheriff Cory ran interference for the hapless gambler by giving the hostile players the table winnings.

Before leaving the saloon, Mort suggested a drink for Jess, as his sharp eye had caught the cheat.

The frightened gambler admitted (as all card cheats do) he had "_only cheated this one time._" He readily gave up his winnings in exchange for freedom and relative safety.

Slim watched the scene unfold from the sidelines. The usually mellow rancher bristled visibly at the string of insults and name calling aimed at Jess by the card cheat.

As the culprit passed him, Slim reached out, snagged him by the collar and turned him to face the quiet Texan. "You insulted my pard. You don't leave here till you apologize, you miserable little cheat. **IF** he likes your apology, maybe I won't hold you till Mort comes back," a fierce Slim ordered.

"Sorry," the man muttered begrudgingly, trying desperately to wriggle free and head once more for the door.

"Not so fast there, Mister. You insulted my friend and his good name at the top of your lungs. The least you can do is apologize in the same manner. Climb up on that chair and make your apology to my friend and tell the whole place that you were wrong."

With Slim's fist in his collar the card-cheat was boosted enthusiastically onto a chair. "Get to it," demanded the angry rancher. "Remember, if we don't like it, you'll do it again till we do."

"I wish to apologize for insulting Mr. Harper," squeaked the cheater.

"The man AND his good name," the rancher prompted.

"I apologize for insulting Mr. Harper AND his good name. I'm very sorry and I was wrong to insult him," the little man yelled, collapsing weakly into the chair.

Jess grinned at Slim and nodded.

"Get out, you little weasel, and don't set foot in Laramie again." Aiming the card cheat at the door he released the hapless fellow, who bolted once more for freedom.

Jess turned to Slim, "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?" replied Slim, leaning his elbows on the bar.

"Grab that guy 'n' make him apologize ta me. Been called worse in my time. Lot worse. Most of it true."

"You've worked hard to get rid of that gunslinger reputation.

Jess gave him an odd look, then smiled that shy, quiet smile Slim loved, but so very rarely saw.

"Thanks, pard. Don't remember nobody ever standin' up fer my name a'fore, 'cept me. Feels kinda strange ta know somebody else thinks it's important," he offered quietly.

"Not just your name, Jess," continued Slim. "You. You are just as important as your name. Don't you ever forget it, either."

Jess actually blushed a faint pink at the praise and that rare, shy smile broadened into a full-on Jess Harper grin, known to buckle the knees of females from eight to eighty.

Meanwhile, Jess and the other players divided the table stakes among themselves, with a generous portion reaching the saloon's coffer for more rounds.

The boys returned to their table as friends offered congratulations and a drink of choice, according the finances available to the buyer. Jess noted Slim accepting quite a few drinks and elected to follow his personal rule: _when in town, one of us stays sober. Well... less drunk,anyway_.

And thus the evening progressed.

Meanwhile, Maxwell, unaware that one should stick to just one or two '_flavors of the devil's brew_;' diligently continued to finish the drinks of the patrons as they left the saloon for the evening.

Maxwell enjoyed a long evening, with a wide and varied liquid assortment.

At last the boys decided that home beckoned and headed toward the door. Both men hit the saloon doors at the same time, shoulder to shoulder and stood there for a moment stuck, till another patron barreled into them, shoving them the rest of the way through the doors.

Once outside, the cool night air cleared their heads a little and they sought after their transportation

Mounting up became a challenge to be met and conquered. Their stalwart mounts endured numerous attempts before Traveler was the first to be rewarded with success by his owner. Jess, Traveler and Alamo then waited patiently for Slim to succeed. Slim stubbornly refused all offers of help Numerous tries later the challenge was met and conquered, Alamo and Traveler carried their riders carefully down the road to home, both steeds thankful for the brilliant full moon making their travel easier.

Maxwell, whose knees had long ago buckled, was sitting on the floor behind the bar looking at a variety of bottles. A large, ornate bottle shoved into a dark corner and covered in a thick layer of dust caught his eye. He reached into the corner and carefully removed the intriguing bottle from its spidery nest of cobwebs and dust. Maxwell had a little trouble focusing on the ornate label but, squinting hard, he read: "Napoleon Brandy." Taking the bottle, he made a concerted effort to stand and check the whereabouts of Jess. Finding his young charge no longer in the saloon, he wove a drunken flight toward the door, leaving a feather floating in his wake. The feather found its way to the cash drawer of the bar where it turned to silver, thus preventing Maxwell from breaking the Eight Commandment.

Once outside, Maxwell found Jess and Slim riding slowly out of town. Maxwell, brandy bottle in hand, followed along at his accustomed discreet distance.

On the way home, the horses – and Maxwell – were treated to a lusty attempt at singing

Slim launched into "Home Sweet Home," which brought forth "The Yellow Rose of Texas" from his Texas born partner. They struggled with "Turkey in the Straw," followed by a variety of songs, eventually settling on "Charlotte the Harlot."

Meanwhile, Maxwell pulled the cork on his dusty bottle and sampled its contents. It burned its way down and spread a warmth through Maxwell that had him relaxing his celestial guard and shimmering momentarily into visibility. Thus, he sipped and floated his way along with the boys. Having enjoyed celestial music, he attempted to join in the songfest: however, not knowing the words, he quickly settled for expanding his Earthly education by listening to the ribald verse Slim and Jess created.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 -Homeward Bound.**

"Awh thish here shingin' ish thurs'y werk. Wist we'd 'memb'r'd ta bring a bot'le wi'h ush," complained Slim.

"Yer the shmart one, hows come y' din't 'memb'r ta bring un' ?" said a slightly less drunken Jess.

Whereupon Maxwell, floating erratically between the two men reached out and shoved his brandy bottle into Jess's hand.

"Will ya look a' tha'," slurred Jess. "We got a bot'le. Like the Good Book says, 'Ask and ya shall retrieve,'" he said and took a healthy slug.

"Ya gonna fergit yer pal? Share and snare a lark," grinned Slim.

Jess looked at Slim, smiled lopsidedly and tried to pass the bottle.

Maxwell reached out and took the bottle, helped himself to a taste, then thrust it into Slim's outstretched hand. Neither one seemed to notice, nor question, the bottle briefly disappearing in transit from Jess to Slim and back again.

Maxwell turned out to be a happy little drunk who sipped diligently as the bottle passed to and fro between Slim and Jess. Thus the trio sang and drank their way down the road, never once questioning the brandy bottle which kept disappearing and reappearing with regularity. Nor the occasional glowing feather that appeared from thin air to drift into the dusty road.

At one point, however, Maxwell, having floated ahead of the boys, could not contain himself and hiccuped loudly. Slim noted the noise and admonished his partner. Jess declined the accusation and Slim offered that it was probably Traveler who had committed the offense.

Maxwell, belatedly realizing that he had actually been heard, moved swiftly to float behind Jess and Slim – where he unexpectedly shimmered briefly into visibility and gave forth with a soft drunken belch.

The Texan, never willing to accept that Traveler was less than perfect, announced, "If Traveler hiccuped, then Alamo just farted," and rode smugly onward.

After riding in silence for a few minutes their jovial mood returned. They made a short return visit to The Yellow Rose of Texas, then switched again to the lusty virtues of "Charlotte the Harlot", adding verses of their own creation. Their slurred, erratic and randy version gave Maxwell a new and interesting education in the ways of Earthly delights between men and women. A vague thought of the rooms above the saloon skittered though Maxwell's sodden brain, but refused to stay for long.

Charlotte the Harlot eventually saw them home.

Alamo and Traveler stood in the yard for several minutes before their masters recognized their location and made the effort to dismount. Actually, it was more falling than dismounting, their goal achieved with far less grace than usual.

Slim staggered toward the corral instructing Jess, "QUI- QUI- Shhhh! We don' wan' ta wahke hup Dayshe," and walked headlong into a corral post.

"OW! HOW DI' THA' GIT THAR?" he asked loudly, bouncing backward and rubbing his bruised forehead.

"QUI-ET!" slurred an equally noisy Jess.

Joining his pard at the corral fence, Jess turned to Slim, or rather a wavering composite of multiple and very blurry versions of his friend.

"I don' feel so good," he informed several of the blurry Slims.

"S'pro'ly the Spandy stalkin'. Tha' stuf shur's g-o-o-o-o-d," belched Slim.

"Slim? Slim! Is yer groun' movin'? My groun' is movin'," queried Jess as he clung tightly to the top rail of the corral.

"Naw, bu' tha fenz' kips wobblin'. Haf'a fisck it com' mor'n'," Slim got out as he leaned a broad shoulder heavily against the corral post.

At this point the corral horses wisely moved to a safer distance from the duo assaulting their home.

"Nev'r min' the groun'. Thin' 'm gonna puke now," said Jess as he clung grimly to the rail.

Slim thought for a moment, then replied in haste, "Jus' a sec, I'll join ya."

And for the next few minutes, Slim and Jess held a "puke contest." It is questionable whether they were going for quantity or distance, but the twosome settled for merely surviving.

Maxwell, feeling the impact of the accumulated night's sampling, which even his celestial system proved unable to handle, moved to the corral as well. The beer, whiskey, rye, tequila and finally the brandy made a very sudden and unexpected return trip to the real world. He shimmered into a visible state and joined Slim and Jess at the corral for the Sherman Ranch Puke Festival. Maxwell's donation left a glowing green trail, as well as a few feathers, that wove its way through the boys' contributions and across the corral to the barn, much to the dismay of the horses.

Intent on their own entries in the Puke Festival, the boys missed entirely that an angel was making his own glowing contribution a short distance away.

Staggering to the water trough, Slim knelt beside it and sluiced water over his face declaring, "I thin' I'm gon' die, Jesh."

"Ah hope ah do. Please don' sav' me 'cause wha'ev'rs left ah me ain't gon' be worth sav'n'," mumbled Jess as he dunked his head below the water's surface.

Maxwell remained at the fence and continued his contribution to the festival, much to the annoyance of the corral's occupants.

"Thin' the'l find enuf ah us to b'ry?" asked Slim as he collapsed flat on his back in the soft mud by the trough.

Jess sat with his back to the trough and gave serious thought to what might be put on his tombstone. _Here lies Jess Harper. Died in a water trough, 'cause he was too drunk to stand up._

As Jess was trying to figure out the date on his tombstone, Slim groaned, rolled over and headed rapidly for the fence on hands and knees.

Jess listened for a moment, then rolled over and made a desperate lunge for the bottom rail.

Round Two of the Sherman Ranch Puke Festival continued unabated for several minutes. After a short spell of non-activity from his stomach, Slim asked, "We stil' ah-lif'?"

"Ah hope not," gasped Jess, the back of his head resting on the bottom rail of the corral. "Ah'd hate ta fe'l thish bad 'n' fin' out we ain't de'd."

Slim, once more at the water trough, leaned his face against it with one arm submerged in the water and agreed, "Ah'm with ya. Nobod' sho'd feel thesh rot-t-ten 'n' still be ah-lif'."

Sinking their heads into the water trough for relief, the pair then slid down the side of the trough to lay gasping on the muddy ground surrounding the trough. It took several minutes and the soft inquisitive nose of Traveler checking on his master before Jess, and then Slim, began making feeble attempts to rise.

"Ah may give up drinkin'."

"Oh?"

"Slim, ah swear'd ah saw a lo-o-ong greeny glowy lookin' snak' in the cor'al."

"Ah saw'd it, too. Ah was hopin' ah's wron'. Big'est greeny glowy snakey ah ev'r saw'd. Hav' ta kill it come mern'-mersh-mow, uh, sunup. Can't hav' nuthin' like 'at 'round Dayshe, Mi-i-ike or the hors-hose-har, uh, shtock."

Maxwell, his stomach now a little more at ease, made an erratic flight into the barn, managing to land on a crossbeam above the horse stalls. Unaware that he was now visible to humans, he listened to Jess and Slim as the barn swirled around him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – QUIET, YOU'LL WAKE UP DAISY!**

Slim, swaying on his long legs, tried to summon the courage to make it to the house – if he could just find it. "Shay, pard," gasped Slim, "WHA' HAPPEN'D TA THE HOWSH?"

He gazed at the barn. "Seems bigg'r ta me. Does it seem bigg'r ta ya'?"

Jess turned to check on Slim. "Tha's da' barn, Hardrock," Jess said. He grabbed his pard and turned him in the direction of the house.

"The howsh is dish-a-way," and gave Slim a hefty shove in the general direction of the kitchen door.

"HEY! NO SHOV'N'. AH C'N DO IT MYSHELF," Slim proclaimed loudly.

Jess hastened to warn his vocal pard, "KEEP QUI-ET! YA'L WAKE UP DAYZZZ"

Grabbing the horses, Jess headed into the barn to unsaddle and put them in their respective stalls. In doing so, he missed seeing Slim stumble into the small tree by the kitchen door and, like the cue ball in a three rail billiard shot, careen off in an entirely new direction.

Slim's new course aimed him, more or less, at the front porch. Slim eyed the rocker on the porch and took aim to land there and wait for Jess. However, those long legs failed to cooperate with the instructions being sent to them and he missed the porch, ramming full tilt into the hitch rail in front of it. Letting out a loud OOOPHFF as his belly slammed into the rail, he folded over it like a wet towel on a clothesline. He hung there for a brief moment before his thrashing legs completed the flip over the hitch rail, depositing him on his fanny with a solid WHUMP.

As Slim looked out in front of him all he saw was a pasture full of horses. Attempting to rise, he slammed into the rail directly above his head which dropped him back to the ground and resulted in a loud cry of alarm.

"JESH! JESH! WHERE'S THE HOWSH? SOM'BOD' STOLED THE RANCH HOWSH!"

Still headed toward the barn Jess yelled over the backs of the horses in equal volume. " T'AIN"T STOLED. STAY THERE, I'LL HE'P YA IN A MIN'T'. NOW BE QUI-ET! DAYZZZ'S SLEEPIN'!"

Slim, content that the stalwart Texan would find the ranch house, stretched out one arm to snag the rail post and began singing loudly and very much off-key.

This prompted Jess to once again caution, at full volume, their need for quiet. The warning finally silenced the rancher who smiled contentedly, wrapped his arms lovingly around the hitch post, his long legs thrust straight out before him, his boots perfectly balanced on his spurs.

Jess made it into the barn and unsaddled the horses while a very green Maxwell perched drunkenly on a crosspiece high above him.

As he rested, Maxwell tried to lie down on the beam in a vain attempt to stop the slow dizzy spin of the barn. Failing, he fell from on high and landed behind a couple of stacked grain sacks.

Several things happened almost simultaneously...

Jess turned in time to see a spray of straw and feathers shooting skyward.

Next he made a try for his pistol, forgetting momentarily that he still had the keeper on his weapon.

The adrenaline rush helped to clear some of his inebriated haze.

A slightly more sober Jess, leaning on the grain sacks for minor stability, shoved his now freed pistol into the interloper's face, snarling, "Who are ya and what ya doin' in this here barn?"

Hearing those words, Maxwell belatedly realized that Jess Harper could actually see him. Just as that fact reached through the drunken fog surrounding his celestial brain, a brief moment of clarity swept through Maxwell. _I must change my appearance, _and he managed to get his heavenly raiment switched to cowboy attire, his wings giving him a moment of concern as the lost feathers made for a rather rag-tag coat.

Maxwell looked up to find his nose touching the barrel of Jess's gun and completely forgot that he was a celestial entity immune to earthly weapons.

He tried valiantly to get a sound to come out of his mouth. After several false starts, he managed "Uh, uh, uh... you can see me?"

"Ah course I c'n see ya. Now... who ARE ya 'n' what ya doin' in this here barn?" repeated Jess, a little more loudly and forcefully than his aching head had intended.

"M-M-Max. Maxwell. My... my name is M-Max-Ma-Maxwell," said a shrinking Maxwell. Considering the night's festivities, he was surprised that he could both remember as well as say his name with even a small degree of clarity.

"Okay, Max Maxwell," Jess ground out against his now pounding head, the Texan's volume inadvertently increasing with his level of irritation at the intruder. "WHAT are ya DOIN" in this here BARN?"

"S-s-s-sl-sleeping?"

Jess paused and gave this answer some serious thought. He noted that his night visitor had no weapon, no blanket, his clothes were in a thin and ragged condition and the night temperature was getting chilly. Trading on instinct born during years on the drift, he sized the stranger up, found him seemingly harmless and made the decision to offer "Max" a bed in the ranch house. Besides, he smelled faintly of warm apple pie.

Maxwell, still staring at the enormous gun-barrel resting at the end of his nose, sighed in relief upon hearing the suggestion and promptly passed out.

Peering over the grain sacks at Max; now snoring softly among the loose straw and glowing feathers, he holstered his gun. _I'll take care of the horses, that should give him time to wake up, _thought Jess, returning to the task of bedding down the horses. The familiar chore finished in short order, he turned to the job of getting Max to the house.

The unexpected visitor was still unconscious so, grabbing him by the lapels of his ragged coat, Jess carefully hefted Max to his shoulder and started for the house. Jess discovered his stranger was surprisingly light to carry, considering they were equal in size.

Exiting the barn he looked for Slim to ensure he was still all right. Seeing him semi-awake, nuzzling the hitching post and humming an off-key rendition of "Charlotte The Harlot," Jess figured Slim was safe for the moment. He turned to open the kitchen door, intent on depositing his burden inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - Miss Daisy Unleashed **

A very irate Miss Daisy Cooper stood just outside her bedroom door in furious silence, her robe wrapped tightly around her. She watched as Jess Harper made a vain attempt to sneak into the house through the kitchen door, all the while balancing an inert body on his shoulder.

He would have noticed the housekeeper, but Maxwell's body and legs blocked his view. As he started into the living room with his burden, he heard the chilling voice of Miss Daisy.

"MR. HARPER!"

Caught red-handed, Jess jumped nearly a foot in the air. "MISS DAISY! Yer awake!" he spluttered, stating the obvious.

"A-Ah'm sorry. D-Did we wake ya?" Again he stated the obvious. "Gee, Ah'm real sorry, Miss Daisy. We sure didn't mean ta wake ya up. Honest, we tried ta be as quiet as we could," stammered Jess, suddenly feeling like a six-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Just what do you think you are doing? Bellowing out there like a bull moose. No doubt that growling bear at the front door is Slim. Just how do the pair of you expect a body to get a wink of sleep with all that racket?" she interrogated, her blue eyes flashing fire.

"I declare, I could have slept better in the middle of a buffalo stampede," continued the petite housekeeper, not swayed in the slightest by Jess's contrite, and usually successful, efforts to apologize.

"Good Heavens! What stray have you brought home with you?" she added with concern as she stepped forward to check on the stranger draped over Jess's shoulder.

"Well? What have you got to say for yourself?" she demanded as she pulled Jess and his burden to the couch by the window. "Who is this person? Is he hurt? Put him on the couch and I'll get some water for him."

"That's Max. Uh, Max Maxwell. I- I found him in the barn. Figured he could sleep a little warmer in here. His clothes are pretty thin," Jess explained.

"So you just 'found' him and brought him home like a lost puppy?"

"That poor man," she crooned as she bent over him to inspect him with her nurse's eye.

"Jess, bring me a blanket from the cupboard, please."

Jess hesitated a brief moment, wondering if he should grab his inebriated pard as backup. Deciding that Daisy had cooled down some, he bravely dug out the requested covering. Daisy placed a pillow under Maxwell's head and Jess handed her the blanket. As she spread it over Maxwell, Jess decided now would be a good time to join a drunken Slim out on the front porch. He started for the door.

Daisy turned back toward the kitchen to the water and viewed the muddy tracks made by her errant surrogate son across her once pristine floor. "What were you doing out there? Bellowing wasn't enough, you had to wallow in the mud before you came in? Just look at what you've tracked in to my kitchen!"

As Daisy was moving toward Jess with the fury of battle still blazing in her blue eyes, Maxwell gave a loud and well-timed groan.

While she turned to check on Maxwell, that rough, tough gunslinger Jess Harper – who would take on five men in a bar room fight or calmly brace a gunman looking to put another notch on his gun – was backing toward the front door with a look of sheer panic on his face. Intent on his twin goals of distraction and escape, he attempted to stammer out an explanation as he continued toward the door.

Once outside, Jess stumbled forward and leaned heavily against the porch corner-post as he looked for a way to haul Slim into the house. Looking down at his pard seated on the ground, Jess's tired, over-worked brain went for the simplest solution: grab him by the collar and haul him in the house.

As he reached for the shirt collar, Slim looked up at Jess and proudly announced in a loud voice, "I FOUN' THE RANSH HOWSH, JESH."

"Good for you pal, now stop yelling," an irritated Jess responded. "Yer making my head hurt worse by the second. Let's get inside and inta bed."

Reaching down, he grabbed a handful of shirt and leather vest and with a soft grunt, hefted Slim's behind onto the porch.

Slim obligingly aided his pard by grabbing hold of Jess's gun-belt and allowed himself to be dragged to the door. His spurs left marks first on the porch and then on Daisy's beautiful wood floor.

Once inside, Jess dropped Slim on the floor and went back to shut the door, telling him to "git up and git ta bed."

A cherubic smile on his face, Slim folded his hands across his chest and lay back on the floor.

"Can't."

"Can't? What ya mean ya can't?"

"Stuck."

"Ya ain't stuck, yer layin' on the floor. Git up"

"Stuck." insisted Slim.

"Stuck? How are you stuck?"

"Boots."

"Boots?" parroted Jess.

Checking Slim's footwear, he discovered the spurs now rested in the groves of the floorboards and were indeed stuck in the wood.

Reaching down, the Texan gave first the left boot and then the right a strong pull, freeing each in turn from its wooden prison along with sizable bits of wood.

Meanwhile, Daisy had turned from aiding Maxwell in time to see the freeing of the spurs.

"My floor!" gasped Daisy.

Had anyone asked, there is no question that the greatest understatement conceived in the entire Wyoming Territory that night was '_Miss Daisy is upset_.'

Whirling, in two steps she reached the broom she had left by the fireplace when she'd swept up several feathers that had somehow escaped from the pillow now under Maxwell's head.

The swift movement caught the Texan's eye. Seeing the oncoming freight train commonly called 'Miss Daisy,' the weary cowboy was galvanized into sudden action. Being closer to the bunk room, he lunged to safety, calling over his shoulder, "Run fer it, pard!" That was all he had time to say as he made it through the door.

Slim, having to scramble up from the floor, did not make it to the safety of their room in time to avoid Daisy and her broom.

Daisy connected the business end of her weapon with the seat of Slim's pants, hard enough to snap the broom in half.

The added boost sent Slim flying into the room. Jess, stationing himself at the door, quickly slammed it shut as Slim sailed into the room.

"And stay there till breakfast," grumbled Daisy.

A twin chorus of "Yes, ma'am" floated through the door.

Jess's stray she noted appeared to be sleeping peacefully, so left him to it. She deposited her broken broom in the kitchen. _Just as well, it was due to be replaced anyway,_ she thought, heading for her bed and hopefully a peaceful rest of the night. Maxwell gave her a small assist and she quickly drifted off to slumber-land.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – Breakfast With Daisy **

The sun rose full of joy the next morning, spreading his happy sunbeams to every corner of the landscape. One little sunbeam cheerfully scampered across the grassy fields to nudge her way under a curtain and dance across the sleeping form of Maxwell. As she kissed Maxwell's eyelids to wakefulness, Maxwell gave a mighty groan of pain.

Struggling to rise from his bed, he was certain the entire Celestial Drum and Bugle Corps was practicing within his skull. Reaching full consciousness, he realized the source of the pounding had to be coming from somewhere or someone else. Celestial beings did not succumb to this form of human malady. Fighting his way through the roaring rapids of chaos, he was able to determine the river of cacophony washing over him originated in the bunk room.

He tried to transport himself into the room but the colossal din in his head would not allow him to concentrate.

Staggering to his feet, he began swimming upstream against the raging river of bedlam. Struggling with the door he finally made it into the room and stood next to Jess's bed. Taking a deep breath he reached down and touched Jess's forehead. In his haste to end the deluge of pounding pain and noise he gave an over-sized measure of comfort and the excess ricocheted over to Slim.

Maxwell drew a deep calming breath at the sudden silence. "_Silence, how sweet the sound,_" he thought. Satisfied, Maxwell flickered briefly and disappeared, reappearing next to the door just as Daisy came around the corner from the kitchen.

"Oh good, you're up. How do you feel? Did you sleep well? Are you hungry? I'm fixing breakfast, it will be ready in just a few minutes, if you want to wash up first," she inquired in rapid succession.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fine."

"Very well."

"I'll wash up first."

"Thank you," came Maxwell's equally rapid answers.

"Excellent," replied Daisy, returning to her kitchen.

After washing up outside, he came in to a breakfast feast of pancakes, ham, potatoes, eggs, steak, biscuits with honey and preserves and coffee. Maxwell sat down and tucked into the delicious bounty set before him. Finally finishing (refusing Daisy's offer of thirds) he asked what he could do to pay for his meal.

"Well, let me think," she said. "You could probably feed the horses or milk the cow. I'm sure the boys will be grateful to have either of those chores done before the stage arrives."

"Yes, ma'am," returned Maxwell as he left the building.

Daisy went into the living room to fold and put away Maxwell's blankets. She discovered several feathers in the bedding and a couple more on the floor. Collecting them, she checked the pillow for a hole from which those darn feathers had surely escaped. Perplexed at finding none, she took her collection of feathers and put them in her sewing basket. _I'll find the pillow they belong in and fix it,_ she thought, as she returned to the kitchen.

In the barn, Maxwell, placed a bucket under Bess, patted her rump and asked her to fill it please. She did. A wave of his hand dispensed the hay and grain to the feed box of each horse. Grabbing the full milk pail he set it aside for the moment, knowing it wouldn't do to bring it in mere minutes after leaving the kitchen. Instead, he shimmered briefly and slipped back into the house to check on his charge.

Meanwhile, in the bunk room...

For once, Jess was the first to rise, feeling remarkably refreshed and slightly amazed at having no hangover after last night's events. Dressing quickly, he finished his morning ablutions and started for the door. As he reached for the doorknob there was a sharp rap on the other side and Daisy's rather stern voice inquired if they planned on sleeping all day.

Jess recoiled from the door as if it were blazing hot.

"O-OK, Daisy. We'll be out in a few minutes," he announced.

"Well, hurry up, I haven't got all day to wait for you," admonished the petite housekeeper.

Jess slowly backed away from the door.. He looked at Slim still asleep in his bunk. He gave the bed a kick and Slim rolled over. Grabbing a foot, Jess gave a stern yank, which got Slim up on his elbows with bleary eyes. "What?" he grumbled.

"Git up," Jess instructed.

"What? Why?" Slim muttered, putting his head back down on the pillow.

"We're late. Get up," insisted Jess urgently.

"The stage won't be here for hours yet," he groused.

"The stage ain't here but Daisy is, now git up!"

"OK, I'm up," said Slim, rousing fully and swinging his feet to the floor. "Now what?"

"Git dressed, Daisy's waiting breakfast fer us."

"Oh, yeah," he said, throwing his blankets in a heap on the bed.

As Slim splashed water on his face and prepared to shave, Jess cast a nervous look at the beds, with Slim's blankets heaped in the middle and his haphazardly thrown back at the foot. Making a quick decision, he strode over and began making first his own bed and then Slim's.

As he shaved, Slim cast him a curious look and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Making the beds," replied Jess.

"Daisy always makes our beds."

"Yup."

"Is she sick?" he asked with sudden concern about the elderly lady.

"Nope."

"Then why are you making the beds?" 

"'Cuz."

Totally perplexed, Slim continued questioning a now visibly nervous Jess. "OK, I'll play along, 'Cuz why?"

"Daisy," came the succinct reply.

Sighing in frustration, Slim tried again. "What about Daisy? You just said she was fine."

Jess, standing next to the door, jumped slightly as a spoon rapped sharply on it from the other side.

"Breakfast," came Daisy's voice through the door.

"Jess, what's the matter with you? You act like you're scared of Daisy."

"I am."

"You are? Why?"

"Last night."

"Last night?"

"Yeah."

"What about last nig...i..g..ht. Oh, OOOH! Yeah..."

"Oh, yeah."

"You think she's still mad about it?"

"Pard, she broke her broom on your backside. What do you think?"

Suddenly Slim was also looking at the door as if a grizzly bear waited on the other side to devour them.

After a brief eternity of silence Slim said, "We have to go out there."

"I know."

"She'll be even madder if we don't."

"I know."

Slim sighed and muttered softly, "We been outnumbered in bar room brawls and won."

"I know."

"We've helped Mort catch outlaws."

"I know."

"We've handled stampeding cattle."

"I know."

"We've fought off Indian attacks."

"I know."

"We've faced down gunslingers."

"I know."

"We're tougher than she is."

"No, we ain't," the Texan quickly responded.

Slim paused, "Well, at least we're bigger than she is."

"Face it, Slim, yer goin' ta have ta go out there."

"ME! Why me?"

"It's yer job. Yer the senior partner of the ranch, that makes you the boss. If'n yer the boss, she works fer you. So, it's yer job. Git goin', Hardrock," Jess said as he opened the door and launched Slim out with a powerful and unexpected shove into the living room, then quickly shutting the door.

"Jess..." began Slim, then stopped as Daisy came in to view.

"Oh good, you're up, breakfast is ready," she said, indicating the table then returning to her kitchen.

He looked at the table where two bowls sat, steam lifting off them.

"Jess," hissed Slim, "Get out here!"

Seeing that his pard was unscathed by his encounter with Daisy, Jess cautiously entered the living room.

Looking at the table, he asked, "Where's breakfast?"

Slim pointed at the twin bowls of steaming food.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Dunno for sure, I think it's our breakfast," whispered a dubious Slim.

Both men slowly and cautiously approached the table, then gave a slight jump as Daisy called from the kitchen.

"You'll have to make do with a bowl of oatmeal mush. I'm running late this morning since 'something,' " she said in an icy tone, "woke me up last night and I overslept this morning. I'll bring your toast as soon as it's done."

Slim heaved a guilty sigh and sat down. Reaching for the pitcher of cold milk he poured a hefty amount on his oatmeal, then grasped the sugar bowl.

Jess watched in fascination as the milk was quickly and completely absorbed by the oatmeal.

Slim picked up his spoon to add the sweetener to the bowl and a look of surprise crossed his face. He looked up at Jess as if to check whether his pard had somehow swiped the milk from his bowl.

Jess's look of shock assured him the Texan had nothing to do with the disappearing milk. Ladling on a goodly amount of sweetener, he waited to see what would happen. Satisfied that the sugar would stay where he had put it, he shoved his spoon into the middle of the bowl. As he again tried to add milk to his cereal, he stopped dead. His spoon was standing at rigid attention in the middle of the bowl. He cast a helpless look at Jess, who was now looking down at his own bowl as though it were a nest of rattlers waiting to strike.

Slim poured on more milk and grabbed his spoon with the intent of stirring it in. The spoon carved canyons in the oatmeal which quickly filled with milk. He kept trying to stir as his bowl turned into great gray lumps of oatmeal. Taking a small amount on his spoon, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried the first bite. He wondered briefly if Alamo would mind sharing his breakfast oats with his master.

Jess, still standing, looked at Slim with grave concern, then looked again at his own bowl. "_There is no way that gray sludge is going down this Texas boy's throat,_" he thought. Turning on his heel he headed out to the corral, leaving Slim to his fate.

Daisy came in with the promised toast and, setting the tray of blackish brown toast on the table, inquired, "Where did Jess disappear to?"

Slim's eyes flew open. Looking around, he was surprised to find himself alone.

"I had some bread left over from a few days ago. I thought you boys could finish it up as toast before it got too hard and stale," she cheerfully informed Slim. His mouth full of oatmeal, Slim grunted a non-committal reply. Still wrestling the ever-growing wad of oatmeal in his mouth, he reached for a slice of toast. In doing so, he dislodged another slice which slid from the stack, causing a large portion of it to disintegrate on contact with the table. Slim carefully returned his toast to the plate.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 - - The Apology**

Closing the door behind him, Jess walked to the corral. He was surprised to find lush grass and flowers in full bloom growing next to the barn where last night's "green, glowy snake" had come to rest.

"Ah_ don't know how they came to be here, but that is just what Ah need ta give ta Miss Daisy, along with a very sincere apology... and a considerable amount of groveling,_" he thought to himself.

He quickly set to the task and shortly had an armful of fragrant blooms collected for Daisy.

Maxwell, watching Jess start to collect the flowers, turned his attention to the dainty housekeeper. He prepared to touch her gentle heart to soften it for Jess and his apology. It was not required.

Jess knocked at the kitchen door and waited. Daisy opened the door to a bouquet of flowers above a pair of jean-clad legs with a pair of cobalt-blue eyes just visible over the top of the double armful of blooms. "Oh my, what beautiful flowers, Jess. Where did you find so many?"

"Daisy, I'm sorry, I... , uh, we woke you last night. I, no, we didn't intend to. I, I mean, we, want ta make it up ta ya. Slim will fix the gouges in the floorboards, I'll make you a new broom and get rid of the mud we tracked in. We'll both do your dishes for ya so's ya can take a little nap today. Please, Daisy, will ya forgive me, uh, us?"

"Please?" he begged, using that velvet graveled voice to full advantage.

Taking the huge bouquet of blossoms, Daisy's stern demeanor promptly crumbled in response to his heartfelt plea. Smiling happily, she agreed to his offer. "Come in, you scalawag. Yes, you are both forgiven. Go collect that mess from Slim and I'll fix something decent for you to eat. It will only take a few minutes."

"And next time you get that drunk, stay in town," she added sternly.

Dropping a quick kiss on her cheek and a soft "Thank ya, Miss Daisy" in her ear, Jess headed for the dining table and Slim.

"Stop eating that stuff, she's going to fix us something decent," he excitedly informed his pard.

Grabbing up his bowl and then Slim's, he paused slightly as Slim spat the wad in his mouth back into his bowl.

"Oh, that's really nice, Mr. Sherman. Did your mother teach you that?" he asked in mock affront.

Slim started to rise, but Jess quickly reminded him they were "getting real food," so don't do anything to mess it up.

"At least I stayed to try and eat it. That's more than you did," Slim asserted in his defense.

"I'm sorry, but we Texas boys have a real delicate palate. I wouldn't have been able ta taste food for a month if I'd a tried ta eat that stuff." Grabbing the rest of the dishes, he made a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

"I'll jest toss this stuff out fer the chickens ta eat," he said as he stepped out of the kitchen and into the yard.

Taking a firm grip on the plate of toast, he flipped the slices into the air. He watched in mild satisfaction as the slices fell 'en-masse' to the ground. His eyebrows shot skyward as every piece disintegrated on contact. The chickens, running toward him in delighted anticipation of this unexpected bounty, stopped short as their prize disappeared.

The entire flock of hens turned and looked at Jess as though he were personally at fault for the disappearance of their food.

"Sorry, girls, it's not my fault," he muttered in self-defense. "Here, try this stuff. It should stick to your ribs." He turned both bowls upside down. For a moment nothing happened, then the gunk in Slim's began a slow release from the bowl, finally landing on the ground with a solid 'thump'!

The chickens stepped back and stared at the gray lump.

Jess was still trying to get the glob of substance out of his own bowl. He turned it upside down. He shook it. Nothing. He thumped the bottom of it. Nothing. He looked at the contents. It remained solidly planted within.

Reaching down to the ground, he picked up a stick and poked it. The contents seemed to latch on to the stick for a moment before Jess pulled it free. Cautiously, he ran the stick around the edges to loosen its grip on the bowl. He again turned it upside down and vigorously thumped the bottom. It made a vile slurping sound, then fell to the ground where it slowly jiggled to a stop. Jess was certain the ground shook slightly when it landed.

The chickens viewed the new offerings with caution and soft, low clucking. Two of the hens advanced slowly, cocking their heads first this way and then that way, trying to size up the best method to taste-test this unknown food group. As Jess watched, the two hens continued their low clucking and circling of the mounds. Finally the large red hen made a tentative peck into Jess's offerings. Immediately she started flapping her wings and trying to squawk. The noise was definitely muffled. In her panic she landed in the water trough and Jess had to rescue her before she perished. As he pulled her out of the water, he saw something stuck on her beak. He reached down and pulled it off. It was a bit of the gelatinous stuff, gluing her beak shut.

She thanked him by giving him three swift pecks on his hand, the last one drawing a few drops of blood. Jess dropped her like a hot rock. Squawking loudly, she flounced angrily away, pausing only long enough to adjust her feathers and kick dirt over the undesirable offerings.

Jess nursed his hand.

Red now looked at him as if he had just killed her favorite chick. Clucking low, the rest of the hens began to gather around her and stared at Jess. One advanced a step, then another and another.

Jess, sensing impending doom, offered an apology and promised to bury his offending gift. Still, they advanced toward him. Grabbing the nearest thing at hand, which was Daisy's wash tub, he tossed it over the mess and tried to beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen door. The hens would have none of it and cut off his path of escape. Clucking low, with heads lowered and wings spread they advanced on the hapless cowboy.

"OK, OK, I'll bury it after breakfast," he bargained. "I promise." _Maybe they'll forget by the time we're done eatin',_ he thought hopefully.

The girls were not to be placated as they continued to surround Jess. Looking quickly around, he spied Daisy's garden spade. Grabbing it, he tossed the tub aside and scooped up the grey globs. _Now, where to bury this mess_, he thought. Turning, he headed for a large patch of weeds at the back of the house.

The hens followed him.

Jiggling the mess loose from the spade he started digging a hole. When he felt it was deep enough, he nudged the mess in and covered it up. Patting the last of the dirt down into place, he added a couple of rocks for good measure. All the while the hens stood by watching and clucking. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he turned to his feathered audience and asked, "Satisfied, now?"

This offer seemed to pacify the girls, who began to drift back to the yard in search of bugs to eat instead of a Texas cowboy. All save Red, the hen he had rescued from the water trough. She turned and scratched the ground, sending dirt flying toward Jess.

"Hey, I saved you from drownin'. Knock it off."

Satisfied she had made her point, she hustled off to join her sisters in search of bugs in the yard.

"Fried chicken dinner is startin' sound real good, so ya better watch it Red," muttered Jess.

Finally returning to the kitchen and not wishing to slow Daisy in the midst of making their decent breakfast, he began grabbing plates, cups and cutlery and set the table.

Daisy brought in platters of food much like what she had served Maxwell earlier that morning. The boys tucked in with gusto and soon were filled with, as Jess said, REAL food.

As the boys ate, Maxwell set about completing Jess's promises to Daisy. He fixed the floor, created a new broom and, while Daisy was busy talking with the boys, he cleaned the kitchen floor in a flash. He even went so far as to clean the muddy clothes they had worn the previous night, leaving them neatly folded on their respective beds.

Replete with a full stomach, Slim finally asked his pard how he had managed to get Daisy to fix them her usual good cooking. Jess explained the deal adding, "from now on we have to stay in town if we get that drunk."

"That's a rule I can live with. I better get my tools and get started on that floor." To his surprise the floor showed no damage. Without questioning his good fortune, he returned his tools to the barn.

In the barn he found Jess offering Maxwell a few days' work with room and board included. Handing Maxwell a pitchfork, Jess started him cleaning the stalls.

"So, when did you plan on discussing the new hired hand with your partner?" Slim asked.

"Aw, Slim, look at him. He's skinny as a rail, his clothes are threadbare and that coat is full of rips and holes. I bet Daisy has better rags in her ragbag then what he's wearin'. 'Sides, winter's comin' on and he needs warm clothes. We can hire him long enough for him to earn enough to buy a set of warm duds. I'll pay him out of my own wages."

"No, you don't have to do that, Jess. I think the Sherman Ranch can handle one more stray in the fold. Better tell Daisy there will be another place at the table for awhile."

"She already knows," grinned Jess, as he turned and walked toward the corral and the team waiting for the next stage.

Once again, Slim was amazed at the warm, tender and generous spirit of his friend.

He knew few men, if any, who were as tough in a fight with either fists or guns as Jess Harper. Yet his heart was as soft as feather down when he saw someone in need.

Releasing a patient, enduring sigh he headed to the corral to join his pard in preparing the next team for the incoming stage, thinking _at least Daisy would have a chance to put a little meat on that skinny frame._ A feather drifted past his boots as he walked.

**Authors Note: **

Yes, "Charlotte the Harlot" really is a drinking song from the early 1860's.


End file.
